Bloodstained Rose
by Tanya Reed
Summary: This is a sequel to Devereaux. While visiting her uncle, Sophie Devereaux is visited by the ghost of a young woman. Intrigued, she decides to find out who the woman is and what she wants. Unfortunately, there are some secrets that are better left buried. (Characters also include Jake and Jenkins.)
1. Chapter 1

Sophie couldn't stop staring at the little body in the photographs. From their investigation over the past two days, she knew that he was nine years old and that his name was Adam Mitchell. He was small for his age and blond, his face round like a cherub. If you didn't look below his neck, he seemed to be sleeping, but Sophie's eyes were drawn again and again to the gaping hole in his chest.

All three of the detectives she worked with had been grim and quiet throughout the investigation, and there was none of their usual friendly antics. Sophie was gratified to know that she wasn't the only one affected by the child's death, but she didn't want them to know how much it really bothered her. She fought to hide how upset she was. If Eliot guessed the way Adam's face haunted her or the terrible nightmares that had been keeping her awake, he might use that as a reason to send her away.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Eliot glanced at her and said, "We'll be getting the results back any minute. If they're conclusive, we'll be able to make the arrest."

Their suspect was Adam's stepfather, and none of them doubted the wanker had done it. They'd found the murder weapon, and it had contained a clear set of prints. Now they were just waiting for the results. Wanting the case solved as soon as possible, Sophie had called in another favour, and they'd been fast tracked.

"Anything yet?" Hardison asked as he and Baird came over and sat at their desks.

"Nope," Eliot told him.

"I think when we arrest the bastard, we should all go out for a good, stiff drink," Eve commented.

"I'll buy," Eliot offered.

Sophie raised her eyebrows at him.

"What?"

"I've never heard you say that before."

"You can buy if you want."

Sophie just shook her head and didn't say anything. When the case was over, her plans were to go home and forget it ever happened. The strain of pretending she was okay was getting to her, and she was tired of wearing her mask.

She barely listened as the conversation continued around her. Her eyes once more went to Adam, and she wondered what it would have been like to be his mother, to lose a child so brutally, to be the one to find him lying on the floor with a bullet in his chest.

"Devereaux?"

Sophie glanced at Eliot when he said her name.

"You okay?"

Sophie forced a smile. "Just thinking about my next scene."

He studied her for a few seconds, and she wasn't sure if he bought it. He didn't get to say anything because his desk phone rang shrilly. He met Baird's eyes before picking up the receiver.

"Spencer...It's a match? Thanks, Joe." He hung up and said. "All right, guys, let's go get him."

XXX

Adam's stepfather was a big man. He towered over Eliot, and his arms looked as big as tree trunks. Sophie was worried when he fought against his arrest, but she shouldn't have been. Eliot was strong and, though it was a struggle, was able to subdue the suspect.

Despite his size, the man was surprisingly normal looking. Nothing about him indicated that he would snap and murder a child. That often fascinated Sophie, the violent acts that came so easily to normal, sane looking people. Sometimes you couldn't tell when someone was about to snap, and you stood bewildered in the wreckage wondering what had happened.

The grieving mother stood off to the side, watching everything with her arms tight across her body and broken eyes. Her presence at the arrest made everything worse. It tinged their triumph with pain.

When Hardison and Baird were finally on the way to the station with their suspect, Sophie was left alone with Eliot. Adam's mother had turned and gone back inside the house. Sophie would never forget the way she'd stared after Baird's car. It was the most heartbreaking thing she had ever seen.

"You coming to MacRory's?" Eliot asked, and Sophie's eyes snapped away from the inconspicuous looking house.

"Hmn?"

"To get that drink."

"No. I don't think so."

"You sure?"

All Sophie wanted to do was curl up in bed and mourn for a child that she'd never even met. "I'm tired. I think I'll go home."

He was searching her face again, and Sophie didn't like it. "I'll give you a lift."

"Thanks."

He nodded. "Not a problem."

She was surprised when his hand briefly brushed her arm before he got into the car. The touch was soothing, as he'd probably meant it, and she wanted him to touch her again.

The two of them were silent as they drove to her apartment. Sophie's control was beginning to fray at the edges, and she was afraid that if she spoke all of the darkness their case had birthed inside of her would spill out and she'd break into a million pieces. That was definitely not something she wanted Eliot to witness.

For the first time since she'd met him, Sophie was relieved to say good-bye to Eliot. She said it quickly, plastering on a pleasant expression through the strands of hair the strong wind kept blowing into her mouth.

"See you in the morning?" he asked as she straightened to close the door.

"Yes, see you in the morning. Have a drink for me as well."

"Will do. Bye."

Sophie closed the door and waved as he drove out of sight. The day wasn't all that cold, but she was shivering and there was an ache in her chest. She rubbed her arms briskly as she headed inside.

The building was mostly quiet, but a mother with two children got on the elevator with her in the lobby. The children were well behaved, and the smaller one smiled shyly. Sophie smiled back and felt tears come to her eyes.

By the time the elevator got to the penthouse, Sophie was holding on to her composure by her fingernails. She hoped her sisters weren't home yet because she hated breaking down in front of them as much as she hated the thought of breaking down in front of Eliot.

Sophie opened the door of her apartment and dropped her keys in the tray nearby. She had an overwhelming need for a shower to wash away the horror of all she'd seen over the past forty-eight hours.

Since the apartment was blessedly silent, she made her way to her bedroom without pausing. She didn't even bother to stop for clothes as she continued through to the bathroom.

Emotion welled up in her chest, and her hands shook as she started on her buttons. The only thing worse than a child's death was a violent child's death, and she wished she could scrub the images from her mind.

When she was naked, she turned the spray on its hardest level, as hot as she could stand. It was a relief to get in the shower and let herself go. Water beat at her, the hot streams hurting in a good way.

She felt the first sob wrack her body and closed her eyes to tip her face up. Water burned her cheeks an instant before tears that were almost as hot broke free. Sophie's whole body shook as she sobbed again.

The first two sobs were the hardest. Once they were released, the others tumbled out quickly. They were so strong that Sophie wrapped her arms around herself to keep from flying apart.

This was the first time she'd allowed herself to cry for that little boy and all he'd lost. It was the first time she'd allowed herself to imagine how frightened he must have been. She thought again of his mother's face, of the hollow eyed pain as she watched her husband being led away.

When Sophie had no more tears left to cry and the water had grown cold, she got out of the shower and dried herself. Feeling drained, she slipped on the big, fluffy robe she kept on a hook on the back of the door. As she did, she heard the faint sound of laughter from the other side of the apartment.

Checking her face in the mirror, she discovered the flush from the heat of the water mostly disguised the blotchy red from her meltdown. Satisfied that the girls wouldn't know how upset she was, Sophie once again put on her mask.

When she entered the great room, Cassie and Parker were chatting happily as they unpacked bags of Chinese food.

"Sophie, you're home!" Parker exclaimed.

"We solved the case."

"So you can eat with us?"

"I'm all yours."

Parker flashed her a smile, and Sophie felt her heart start to lighten.

"Did you buy enough for three?" she asked.

"We bought enough for twelve," Cassie told her. "Parker couldn't make up her mind."

"Leftovers for breakfast?"

"And dinner and supper again."

The talk went on like that, and Sophie let her love for her sisters warm the places that her hot shower hadn't reached. By bedtime, she felt almost like herself.

XXX

Sophie felt a bit better the next morning. Since all three of the sisters would be out for the day, they got up early enough to have breakfast (not leftovers) together. Cassie and Parker talked animatedly while eating their waffles, and Sophie watched them with a slight smile on her face.

Afterward, she was almost cheerful as she picked out some clothes to wear to the station. She brought them into the bathroom with her and began to brush her teeth.

She was halfway done when, suddenly, her stomach started clenching with anxiety. Sophie frowned. Her hand paused as she realized she wasn't ready to go back to work with Eliot. Her dreams of the night before had been the worst ones yet, filled with blood and screams and a little boy crying brokenly for his mommy.

With a sigh, she finished brushing her teeth and revised her plans for the day. Instead of spending her time with the real, flesh and blood, gruff and good looking Detective Eliot Spencer, she'd be spending it with his doppelganger, Cole Maxwell.

She should be working on her novel anyway, she rationalized, and, as much as she enjoyed working with Eliot, he certainly didn't need her. The next day would be soon enough to go back to the station.

Once her mind was made up, she knew it was the right decision. She combed her hair and pulled it up into a simple ponytail but didn't bother to get dressed. Pajamas made pretty good writing clothes.

XXX

Three days later, Sophie was in her office staring at the wall as she tried to untie her newest block. The apartment was quiet because she was the only one home, but she still couldn't seem to concentrate. Instead of thinking about Cole Maxwell, she was thinking about Eliot. She hadn't been back to the station since her meltdown, and she missed him.

She knew she should call him and tell him she was taking a short break, but she kept putting it off. She was a little hurt that he hadn't called her, even though it meant she didn't have to admit how disturbed she'd been by Adam Mitchell's death.

She was about to give in and go get a snack when the phone on her desk rang. Sophie winced. Usually, the only one who consistently used her home number was her mother.

Sophie was tempted not to answer. Every conversation she'd had with her mother since she was fourteen years old had been painful. There was no reason to think this one would be any different.

Finally, on the last ring before the machine would get it, Sophie picked up the receiver. "Hello, Mother."

"Sophie, what took you so long?"

"I was writing."

"More of your little stories?"

"Twenty published novels," she reminded her.

"At least that's better than running around with that police officer."

"His name's Eliot."

"Why you feel the need to work at all when your father left you all that money..."

"Is there a reason you called, Mother?" Sophie asked wearily. Dealing with her mother always made her feel weary.

"Does a mother need a reason to call her daughter?"

"I don't know. Were you looking for me or were you looking for Parker or Cassie?"

"What do you mean? I swear, half of the time I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Nothing. Sorry, Mother."

"I actually was calling for a reason."

No big surprise there. "Yes?"

"When was the last time any of you went to visit your Uncle Jenkins?"

Jenkins was their mother's older half-brother. He was gruff and a bit crusty, but he seemed to know everything. His first name was something like Reinhold or Renfield, but he'd hated it so much that no one ever called him by it, at least not in Sophie's hearing. He' d always just been Uncle Jenkins, and all three girls had adored him when they were growing up.

"It's been awhile," Sophie admitted guiltily.

"Then don't you think you should? He's living alone in that big, drafty monstrosity he bought last year, and he refuses to come out to see me, even for the day." Uncle Jenkins was a little eccentric.

"Have you gone to see him?"

"Yes." Sophie could hear her mother's distaste.

"The house can't be that bad."

"You haven't seen it."

"Why this sudden interest in our dropping in for a visit?"

"We're the only family he has." There was a genuine note of concern in her voice.

"We'll drop in on him this weekend."

"You've always been such a good girl, Sophie."

Sophie raised her eyebrows. This was a new one. "That's me."

"Are you taking care of yourself?"

She thought of the three day old Chinese leftovers she'd had for breakfast. "Yes."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"I'm too busy."

"Things aren't getting romantic with that police officer, are they?"

"No, Mother." Though she wouldn't say no to a turn in that direction.

"You should find yourself a good man and forget about your scribblings and about running around hunting killers. Maria Thompson's daughter throws charity events. Wouldn't you like to throw charity events?"

She'd rather die. "Events aren't my thing."

"But you're such a pretty girl."

Two compliments in one call. "Did you want something else, Mother?"

"Just all three of my girls to be happy."

"We are," she assured her.

"That's all I ask."

"I've got to go, Mother. I have something in the oven." Sophie crossed her fingers.

"You have something in the oven?"

"You don't have to sound so astonished."

"Well, Sophie, dear, you're not known for your cooking."

"But I am known for my eating...The timer's going off. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay. Tell Parker she's left her favorite sweater here."

"I will. Bye, Mother."

Hanging up the phone was such a relief that Sophie felt almost giddy. She loved her mother, but they were very different people. Her mother was a smotherer, and Sophie had been stubbornly independent since her first steps. Where Parker and Cassie had flourished under their mother's watchful eye, it had chafed Sophie, and the freedom she'd had when visiting her father fit her personality so much better.

Her conversation with her mother had squashed any remnants of creativity, so Sophie saved her document, got up, and stretched. It was time for some feel good fuel.

XXX

Eliot scowled into his coffee, cursing the mound of paperwork waiting for him. Just the thought of it made him cranky, and it was almost enough to make him wish for a murder. Almost.

Of course, he admitted to himself—though he'd never admit it to anyone else, even his brother—that wasn't the only reason he was cranky. He missed Devereaux. He missed the way she smiled and the way she smelled. He missed her razor sharp insights into whatever problem they were working on.

He hadn't heard from her in days. At first, her silence had been a relief because he'd still been working under the delusion that he only reluctantly let her tag along. It wasn't long before he came to the astonishing conclusion that he liked working cases with her.

Despite missing her, he hadn't called. She'd been pretty upset about the Adam Mitchell case, so he figured that's what was keeping her away. Over the two months he'd known her, he'd come to discover that only half of what Sophie was feeling actually made it to her face. She was warm and open, a bit of a flirt and a light hearted tease, but she didn't like to show her emotions. He'd had to start listening to her silences and paying attention to her body language.

That wasn't the only reason he hadn't called. If he called, she'd know that he missed her. She'd know she mattered to him.

"Hey!" Hardison said. "Still no Devereaux?"

"You know how she is about paperwork." Eliot put down his mug and grabbed his first file.

"Yeah, paperwork."

"You got something to say, Hardison?"

"Just wondering if she's coming back. Kid cases are tough."

"So's Devereaux." Eliot flipped open the folder. "She'll be back. I wouldn't be lucky enough for her to give up and stay away."

Hardison snorted.

"What?"

"That girl's got you wrapped around her finger—just like she has everybody else."

"Shut up."

"Just saying."

"Don't you have somethin' better to do?"

"Nah." He took a sip of his coffee. "Slow week."

"Don't say that. Never say that."

Eliot was interrupted by the ringing of his desk phone. Seeing the Caller ID, he growled, "Dammit, Hardison!"

"What?"

Eliot just waved at him and answered the phone. At least the call meant the end of paperwork.


	2. Chapter 2

As Sophie drove up to the old mansion, she had to admit it was a little spooky. It was at least a hundred years old, large and grand, but not quite as splendid as it had once been. The paint peeled a little. At least two of the shutters had been lost by time. The front porch sagged a little bit, but the swing full of cushions looked strong and sturdy.

"This place is creepy!" Parker said from the backseat.

"I kind of like it," Cassie replied, turning to look at her sister. "It's romantic."

Sophie couldn't see anything romantic about the place. Being so isolated and worn, it made her think of Hallowe'en not Valentine's Day.

"I wonder if Uncle Jenkins is home," Cassie continued.

Both of Sophie's sisters had been enthusiastic about an overnight visit with their uncle, and neither young woman had to be persuaded to drop everything and come with her.

"Does he live here all by himself?" Parker asked, peeking upwards through the car window as they parked.

"Who else would live with him?" Sophie said, but she was smiling.

"I would." Parker opened her door and stepped out, narrowly missing a puddle.

"Me, too," Cassie chimed in.

The three of them walked up the overgrown path to the porch. Sophie decided she would talk to her uncle about hiring someone to come do some yard work and maybe even spruce up the outside of the house.

"Why do you think he bought this place?" Parker asked, looking around the yard.

"It's suits him," Sophie told her. "This is just the sort of house I'd expect him to live in."

"I'll bet it's huge inside," Cassie commented, lightly climbing the steps. "I wonder if he's done any restoration."

"Knowing him, he's been spending all his time in the lab, and he wouldn't even know if the whole house fell down." Their uncle was an old school inventor, one like you saw on old TV shows.

"I wonder what he's working on."

"Probably something fun." Parker hopped up the steps and passed Cassie to knock on the door.

Sophie followed them more carefully because the steps sagged suspiciously under her weight.

Parker had to knock three times before the door opened to reveal their Uncle Jenkins. He looked much as Sophie remembered him, except his hair was a little grayer. He was dressed in a nice suit, his tie perfectly knotted, and there was a scowl on his face. This wasn't unusual either, but Sophie knew it was mostly for show.

"Uncle Jenkins!" Cassie squeaked excitedly, bouncing to catch him in an exuberant hug. She kissed his cheek several times.

"Yes, yes, Cassie, hi," he said gruffly, but Sophie could see he was secretly pleased.

"Hi, Uncle Jenkins." Parker smiled at him, her eyes lighting up. She wasn't much of a hugger but, when Cassie released him, she did lean over and give him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"Hello, Parker."

"My turn," Sophie said, wrapping her arms around her uncle. Uncle Jenkins was a big man, and she remembered, as a child, feeling safer in his arms than in anyone else's. Despite being over seventy, he still felt sturdy and strong against her, and she was suddenly that little girl again. "I've missed you."

"Yes, well it wouldn't hurt for you to pick up the phone once in awhile," he grumbled, but his hand patted her back.

Like her sisters, Sophie gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and one more squeeze before she let him go. "I'll try to remember that."

"Your mother said you're here for the night."

"She called?"

"Of course she called. And she talked. A lot."

Cassie laughed. "That does sound like Mother."

"Do you need help with your bags?"

The bags were in a little pile on the steps where they'd all dropped them. Parker's small backpack, Cassie's tiny pink suitcase, and Sophie's two horribly expensive gray designer bags.

"We'll be fine," Sophie assured him.

"Then let me show you to your rooms."

"This place is huge, Uncle Jenkins," Cassie commented as she picked up her bag and followed him into the house.

"You're not going to ask if I'm lonely, are you?"

"Why?" Cassie paused.

"Priscilla keeps telling me I am."

"When have I ever listened to Mother?" Sophie asked, entering last. Her bags were heavy, and carrying them both through the door at the same time was a challenge.

"Good point." He turned to glance at her and give her the flicker of a smile.

The house was much like its owner, showing its age but sturdy. It possessed old fashioned charm, and Sophie felt welcomed.

"I like it," Parker announced, contrary to what she'd said at first sight.

"I'm glad you approve," Uncle Jenkins replied dryly.

The foyer was large and surprisingly bright. A grand staircase led up to the next floor. That's where their uncle headed.

As Sophie started up the stairs, she had the strange feeling that someone was watching her. She paused to glance over her shoulder. When nothing seemed amiss, she felt a little foolish.

"Sophie?" Cassie asked.

"Coming."

At the top of the stairs, Uncle Jenkins turned right down a long hallway. The lights were dim and the paper was faded. Antique furniture lined the walls.

"Did these come with the house?" Sophie asked.

"They played a big part in my decision to buy," he told her before stopping in front of one of the many doors. "Each bedroom has its own bathroom. They were added around the time bathrooms were being brought inside. The plumbing is new, but everything else is not."

"No showers?" For the first time since they'd arrived, Cassie sounded subdued.

"No."

"But a claw foot tub," Sophie commented, already imagining herself immersed in hot water.

Her uncle tapped on his nose.

"I like baths," Parker said. "Is this my room?"

"If you wish. I freshened the linens on the beds in these three rooms. Divide them as you like. I'll leave you to get settled. Dinner's in an hour."

Sophie had forgotten he could cook. The thought of a home cooked meal warmed her as much as the thought of a bubble bath in a claw foot tub.

"You didn't have to cook for us, Uncle Jenkins," Cassie told him.

"But we're glad you did," Sophie added.

He inclined his head before heading back towards the stairs.

Cassie and Parker opened the doors on the right, so Sophie opened the one across the hall. The room had a faint floral scent, and muted yellow curtains fluttered above a slightly open window. A white spread with small yellow rosebuds covered the bed and matched the faded wallpaper. The furniture looked to be as old as the house. Sophie thought the room was enchanting.

She placed her bags at the foot of the bed and went to the dresser. On top were a porcelain pitcher and basin.

"Sophie..." Her name seemed to float on the soft breeze that stirred her shirt.

She tapped her fingers lightly on the basin, smiling. Her uncle's house was just what she needed to help sooth the turmoil of the past few days.

The bathroom door was right beside the dresser, so she opened it. The room looked just as she'd expected. It was like going back in time.

The smell of floral perfume was stronger there, and Sophie wondered if the scent came from the clothes detergent Uncle Jenkins used. A towel rack near the tub held a large, fluffy towel, a hand towel, and a facecloth. There were all blindingly white. Her uncle was a bit eccentric, but he was an immaculate housekeeper.

"Sophie!"

Sophie started at Parker's loud use of her name. She hadn't even heard her sister come into the bedroom. Putting a hand to her chest, she turned and asked, "What is it, Parker?"

"We're going to explore the rest of the house. Wanna come?"

"No. I think I'm going to try to write. You go ahead."

"All right. See you at dinner."

One of the pieces of furniture in the main room was a roll top desk. There were pigeon holes along the top, some of them with small carved doors and some of them open, and a nice writing surface. Some long dead woman had probably used it for correspondence. Sophie could almost see her sitting there.

The desk was enough to inspire any muse, Sophie thought as she slipped her laptop case out of the smaller of her bags. She set it on the desk and went to open the window a bit more. The room had grown warmer and the cool breeze felt good.

When Sophie sat in the chair, which creaked a bit, the breeze brushed her face and played with her hair. It brought with it more of the scent Uncle Jenkins used on the laundry, and Sophie realized it smelled like roses—not factory made, approximate rose essence, but like the real thing, like roses plucked from someone's garden.

Smiling, Sophie took the laptop out of its case and opened her latest chapter. She read the two paragraphs before she'd stopped to pick the flow back up and started to type. She was soon lost in her story and in Detective Maxwell, and she forgot where she was or that she'd have to go downstairs soon.

Her writing came to an abrupt halt when one of the small doors, hinged at the bottom, came open. The wooden door made a soft smacking noise, and Sophie glanced at it in surprise. She reached over to close it and noticed something inside. It was thin like paper but not the right texture. When Sophie carefully took it out, she saw it was an old photograph.

The picture was of a young, dark haired woman, one who looked a bit like Sophie herself. She wore a white dress; her feet were bare. Her face was devoid of makeup, and it held a soft, wistful expression that touched Sophie's heart. She was standing on the front porch of Uncle Jenkins's house, and her hair was long and loose. Turning the picture over, Sophie read, "Rose, 1973."

She wondered if this had been Rose's room.

There was a knock on the door, and Sophie glanced over to see a flushed and happy looking Cassie.

"He sent me to fetch you," she said.

"What are we having?"

"Pasta."

"Uncle Jenkins's pasta is better than Marco's."

"Yup," Cassie agreed.

"Just give me a moment to Save."

Cassie nodded and waited. Sophie felt reluctant to get out of her chair. A strange lassitude had come over her limbs. She considered staying where she was to write some more, but her stomach growled and made up her mind to go. She quickly pressed Save and got up, closing her laptop.

"You should see this place, Sophie," Cassie gushed. "It's amazing."

"Did you find the lab?"

She shook her head. "I think it's in the basement."

"Did he say what he was working on?"

"No, but I'm going to ask him."

Since their uncle was so eccentric, some of his inventions were a little wacky, though most of them were practical. Truth be told, Sophie rather preferred the wacky ones.

Cassie led her down to the dining room, which was at the back of the house. It was huge and contained a table big enough to seat more than one family. It was already loaded with a pot on a warmer, bread, butter, and salad. Four places were set, which looked ridiculous.

"I wonder if he eats all his meals out here," Sophie commented.

"There's a little table in the kitchen. I think he's trying to impress us."

Parker came out of the kitchen with two pitchers in her hand. One contained water and the other orange juice. Uncle Jenkins came behind her holding a box of milk.

"We're missing napkins," he said, looking at the table with a frown.

"I'll get them," Sophie offered. "Where are they?"

"In the top drawer in the lower column by the sink."

Sophie went into the kitchen expecting the same journey through time as she'd found in the rest of the house. What she got instead was a fully updated room with granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances. It was almost a disappointment.

She quickly located the drawers her uncle meant and opened the top one. In it were some dishcloths and some meticulously folded cloth napkins. Sophie fished out four, amused that her uncle still used them.

As she closed the drawer, Sophie noticed a flower on the counter about ten feet away. Looking closer, she saw that it was a yellow rose. A dark red liquid was sprinkled across it like raindrops. Frowning, Sophie moved towards the rose. Some of the droplets had started to drip.

The drops looked like blood. Sophie swallowed and told herself that it was probably food coloring. She turned her back on the rose and went into the dining room.

"Uncle Jenkins, do you know anything about the rose on the counter?"

"What?" he asked.

"There's a rose on the counter."

"You found a rose on the counter?" He looked thoughtful.

"It's yellow and..." She didn't know how to describe what she'd seen.

"Blood?"

"It looked like it."

"Don't worry about that." He waved a hand. "They appear from time to time."

"Appear?"

"Yes. From the house ghost."

"Ghost?" Cassie squeaked.

"All the best century mansions have them."

"Is she a good ghost or a bad ghost?" Parker asked curiously.

"I have no idea. All I ever see is the rose...and once a shadowy figure at the top of the stairs. As far as I know, she's harmless."

"Has she ever done anything scary?" Cassie asked.

"Not while I've been here."

"I hope I see her," Parker commented and started filling her plate. She was the first to do so, and the act made everyone remember they had a delicious supper waiting. The subject of the ghost was dropped in favour of the decidedly more real pasta in front of them. Sophie forgot all about the rose.


	3. Chapter 3

That night, Sophie hummed to herself as she took her pajamas out of her bag. Knowing she was going to be sleeping in an old, drafty house, she'd gone for warmth over luxury and packed blue and white striped flannel.

Since the air outside was getting cooler, Sophie shut the window before going into the bathroom. She was going to have a good, long soak in the claw foot tub and write a love scene for Cole in her head while doing so. The fact that Cole looked a lot like Eliot would probably warm her as much as the water.

Feeling a little flushed even at the thought, Sophie started filling the tub before beginning to undress. As she did, she thought about her uncle's house and wondered who had lived there during its long life. As a writer, her mind was already filling in the gaps, creating characters that almost lived and breathed. One of those characters was the young woman in the photograph. Who was she? Why did she look so sad?

Just as Sophie was about to get in the tub, the room grew decidedly colder. She shivered as goosebumps broke out all over her skin. Blaming a draft from the old window, she went over to the small electric radiator and turned it up. A thin trail of heat came from it but not enough to dispel the sudden chill.

Hoping the heater would warm the room while she was in the bath, Sophie hurried over to the tub, shut off the water, and climbed in. The water was hot, hot, hot, and it felt glorious as she sank down.

Her whole body hummed as the heat worked itself into her, warming her from the outside in. Sophie leaned back against the angled porcelain and closed her eyes. Instead of thinking about Cole—or even Eliot—as she'd planned, her mind continued playing with the characters she'd created to inhibit Uncle Jenkins's house.

It would make quite a story, she thought, sinking further into the water. Four or five generations caught up in the turbulence of the Twentieth Century. Wars, the Depression, free love. Pain, pain, and more pain. Maybe some joy. Home births. Home deaths. Women trying to survive in a smothering patriarchy. The rise of feminism. Laughter. Tears. Love. Mother to daughter. Wife to husband.

What would Flynn say if she put her Cole Maxwell book on hold to write about this house? He'd probably have a fit...and then he'd support her. He always did.

The story wove itself through Sophie's mind, and she knew she'd have to start it as soon as she got out of the tub.

Though her body was warm and cozy, Sophie's nose was still cold, and she knew leaving the water would be torture. She wished she could stay in the tub forever. This thought was just going through her mind when the light went out. Sophie blinked in surprise at the sudden darkness.

Excited voices erupted from across the hallway, showing that Sophie's bathroom wasn't the only room without a light. Cassie's high voice came as squeaks without words through the sturdy walls..

Sophie sighed, realizing her bath was over, and pulled the plug. She was attacked by cool air as she rose, but it wasn't as chilly as it had been when she got in.

Since they were in a secluded place, no outside lights shone into the room. It was so dark that Sophie felt blind. She carefully made her way towards the towel rack using the tub and sink as guides.

"Sophie?" Parker called.

"I'm in the bathroom. I'll be out in a minute."

"The lights are out."

"I noticed." She separated the bath towel from the rest and began to dry off.

"It's dark."

"I noticed that too. Is it the whole house?"

"I think so. Cassie went to find Uncle Jenkins."

"Give me a moment to dress, and we'll join them."

"Okay."

Sophie realized she'd left her clothes somewhere on the other side of the room.

"Damn," she mumbled, hanging her towel up and putting her hand against the wall. Going slowly, she followed it, wincing when she banged her knee against the toilet.

"What are you doing in there?" Parker asked.

"Trying to find my clothes," she admitted.

"Want some help?"

"No, Parker. I'm fine."

She was relieved when her bare foot came down on flannel and hurried to pull on her underwear and pajamas. Using the tub to navigate, she crossed the room and opened the door.

"Parker?"

Sophie gasped as a hand brushed her stomach. "I'm right here."

"It's as dark as sin in here."

"How dark is that?"

"You see it."

Parker sounded amused as she said, "No, I don't."

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Come on, Parker." Finding her sister's hand in the darkness, she took it and squeezed. "Let's go find Cassie and Uncle Jenkins."

"Do you think the lights will come back on?"

"I hope so. I know you like to skulk in the dark, but I despise it."

"I'm a star but you're a flower."

Sophie stopped, startled. "What?"

"Something Uncle Jenkins said once. I'm a star and you're a flower and Cassie is sunshine. I'm not sure what he meant."

Sophie felt her way through the door and into the hallway. "Both you and he think too much. Here, we'll follow the wall until we get to the stairs."

"Okay."

With all the antiques in the way, it was difficult journey. By the time they got to the stairs, Sophie saw a glow coming from the bottom floor.

"Hello?" she called.

"Sophie?" The glow moved.

"We're coming down."

"Uncle Jenkins has gone to find more candles and maybe some flashlights." The glow moved again, and this time it illuminated Cassie's face.

"Does he know what happened?" Sophie loosed Parker's and started down, her hand gripping the wooden railing.

"He thinks a wire fell. He used my cell to call the power company. They'll be by to check it in the morning."

Sophie grimaced. "We're in for a cool night."

It was still early spring and, even though the days were getting warmer, there was still a definite chill to the nights.

"Uncle Jenkins is going to light a fire in the sitting room. We can stay in there until we go to bed. There are extra blankets in the linen closet for later."

At the bottom of the stairs, Cassie was a little more visible in the halo of her candle. She looked excited rather than frightened. Noises came from further back in the house,. Sophie assumed they were being made by her uncle as he looked for candles and torches.

Parker and Sophie followed Cassie's candle through the house and into a storage room off of the kitchen. Inside, Uncle Jenkins was looking through a box. On one of the shelves, he had lined up five candles and a torch. There was another torch in his hand.

"How are you making out?" Sophie asked.

He turned to look at her. "As well as can be expected. I've found some candles, and I'm hoping to find a few more. Unfortunately, there won't be any water until we get power back since this was unexpected."

"No water?" Cassie frowned.

"You're not in an urban area now, Cassandra," he told her. "No shared water line. My water comes from a well brought into the house by an electric pump."

"Oh."

"Then I'm glad I've already had my bath," Sophie said, thinking about how nice it had been to soak her cares away.

He nodded and handed her the extra torch. To Parker he handed the five candles. "Why don't you go and get these lit and set up in the kitchen and the sitting room. We want enough light to see by and a couple of extras for when we leave the rooms. I'm going to go through this box, then I'll be in to light the fire." He held out an old lighter to Cassie, who took it gingerly.

As they hurried to follow his instructions, Sophie shivered. She had forgotten to pack slippers, and the wooden floor felt like ice against her feet.

While Cassie and Parker lit the candles in the sitting room, Sophie noticed a writing desk that seemed to be a relative to the one in her room. She went over to see if she could find paper and a pen. She searched the drawers until she found what she was looking for and sat down to write out some of the ideas that were whirling through her mind.

Sophie got lost in her notes and didn't even notice her uncle come into the room until a pleasant warmth licked at her back. She looked over her shoulder to see Parker and Cassie settling down in front of the fireplace. The flickers of the new fire played over their faces, washing them with reds and oranges. Sophie quickly finished up so she could join them. Since she didn't have any pockets in her pajamas, she left her notes on the table and hoped she'd remember them when she left.

Though Cassie and Parker were on the floor, Uncle Jenkins sat demurely on a small loveseat that faced the fireplace. Sophie joined her sisters because it was closer to the fire.

"So, now that we're stuck here in the dark, what are our plans for the evening?" Sophie had no idea what time it was, but it had been almost nine when she went in the tub.

"Sleep?" Uncle Jenkins suggested.

"At ten o'clock?" Cassie asked, looking surprised.

"Don't let us keep you up," Sophie hastened to add.

"I'm not old enough that I can't keep up with the three of you." He waved a hand dismissively. "Do any of you play cribbage?"

Sophie had recently learned to play because she'd found out Detective Spencer enjoyed it, and she longed to play and defeat him. Because she needed people to practice with, she'd taught Cassie and Parker as well.

"As a matter of fact, we do." She smiled.

"There should be a board and some cards over there in the desk. It would be a pleasant way to wile away the time before bed."

"I like crib," Parker said, getting up to fetch what they needed.

"And what will we be playing for?" Uncle Jenkins asked.

"We usually play for cookies," Cassie told him.

He raised an eyebrow. "Cookies?"

"Chocolate Mint Girl Scout cookies. Those things are addictive," Sophie clarified.

"Indeed. As I do not have cookies, would peppermints do?"

Parker thought about this as she pulled over a small coffee table to put the crib board on. "I like peppermints."

"Me, too!" Cassie said, "Where are they, Uncle Jenkins? I'll go get some." She jumped to her feet.

They spent an enjoyable evening and Sophie realized again how much she'd missed Uncle Jenkins. She felt a little guilty for letting life keep her away so long. At midnight, they decided to retire to their rooms with extra blankets, though Sophie didn't know if Cassie or Parker would get much sleep. Their uncle had promised to show them his lab and everything he was working on once the power was restored the next day.

Sophie went to bed alone, but she woke up before dawn to find a warm body curled next to hers.

"Parker?" she mumbled, recognizing the same vanilla shampoo she used herself.

"Got cold," Parker mumbled back.

Counting herself lucky that Cassie hadn't decided to join them, Sophie rolled over and went back to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Sophie was awakened the next morning by bright sunshine in her face and the sound of men talking outside the window.

She was lying at a strange angle, her feet hanging off of the mattress. Parker was still curled up beside Sophie, her small form taking up much more room than it should have. Sophie smiled and touched Parker's hair affectionately before crawling out of bed. The floor was still cold on her feet but the room was almost warm.

She went to her bag and dug for some socks. Since the bag rested on the desk chair, her eyes went automatically to the photograph propped up against the side of the desk. She frowned when she saw a yellow rose sitting beside it. Like the one from the night before, the rose was sprinkled with blood.

A little freaked out, she reached out to touch it but was stopped by a shrill scream. The scream belonged to Cassie, so Sophie dropped her socks and once more shoved the bloodstained rose from her mind.

Parker, who slept like a hibernating bear, didn't stir as Sophie raced past the bed and into the hallway.

"Cassie?"

"Sophie, it's Uncle Jenkins!"

"What happened?" She rushed down the corridor to see Cassie at the bottom of the stairs leaning over the crumpled form of their uncle. He was completely still, and his leg was twisted at an odd angle.

"I think he fell down the stairs," Cassie said.

"Call 9-1-1," Sophie told her, hurrying down the stairs.

Cassie nodded and went to the phone their uncle kept on a table by the door. Sophie bent to check if Uncle Jenkins was alive. Feeling a pulse, she collapsed to the floor beside him with a relieved sigh. His face was pale, and there was blood on his forehead.

"Maybe Mother's right. Maybe he shouldn't be here alone," she said softly.

Hanging up the phone, Cassie replied firmly, "He'll be okay. He always is."

XXX

By the time the ambulance got there, Parker was up. She stood to the side, clutching a blanket she'd wrapped around herself, her face pinched and white.

They watched Uncle Jenkins get loaded into the ambulance and followed it to the hospital. Once there, they were told to wait to hear from the doctor.

Parker curled up in a small brown chair with her arms wrapped around her legs. She stared out of a tall window with blank eyes. The sun on her face made her blond hair glow angelically.

Cassie, in contrast, began pacing restlessly with her arms crossed and a worried frown on her face. Sophie kept a watchful eye on them both, her chest tight and her stomach in knots.

It was hours before a young doctor came out to speak to them. He was tall and rail thin with kind eyes.

"Sophie Devereaux?" he asked.

Sophie got up, shaking a little, and went to him. "I'm Sophie Devereaux."

"He's going to be fine."

She let out a deep sigh, relief tingling throughout her whole body.

"He'll need someone to stay with him for the next six weeks. He's got a broken arm and a broken leg. We also want to watch him for signs of a concussion over the next twenty-four hours."

"I work from home," she said quickly. "I'll stay with him."

"Me too," Cassie said.

Sophie glanced at her. "It's an hour into the city."

"I don't care."

Parker got up. "I want to stay too."

"We'll all stay with him then," Sophie assured her.

"Okay," the doctor answered. "We're keeping him overnight for observation. You can come and pick him up tomorrow."

"Thank you, Doctor. Does he need anything?"

"No. He's resting. Go home and do whatever you need to do. We'll take good care of him."

Sophie nodded and motioned to Parker and Cassie. Together, they went out to go home and pack.

XXX

Packing for one night had been hard. Packing for six weeks was harder. At least her laptop and all her toiletries were already at her uncle's. Sophie just had to worry about clothes and, conceivably, if she forgot something, she could always come back and get it. That didn't make things any easier.

She was just trying to decide whether she needed to pack a dress or not when her cell rang. She picked it up off of the dresser and saw that it was Eliot. Her chest tightened. Was he calling her about a murder? She'd been planning on going back to the station the next day, but now things were all screwed up.

"Hello?"

"Devereax."

"Hi, Eliot. How are you?"

"How am I? I'm wondering what the hell's going on, that's how I am."

Sophie's eyes widened. "Pardon?"

"It's been almost a week. No silly texts. No phone calls at the worst possible time. No extra body on the other side of my car..."

"Do you miss me, Eliot?"

"What? No. Of course not. I'm just checking to make sure you're not dead on the side of the road somewhere."

She smiled. "You were worried."

"I didn't say that."

"I'm fine," she assured him, "but you're going to not miss me for another six weeks. There's been a family emergency."

"Is everything okay?" His tone changed.

"My uncle had an accident, and I have to go take care of him. He's fine, but he has some broken bones."

"Six weeks, huh?"

"Yes, but you can come visit me if you want."

He snorted derisively.

"You could spend the night."

"What?"

"There's ten bedrooms," she hurried to add, though she had been teasing him.

"I'll think about it. I've got to go."

"Thanks for checking on me."

"Whatever."

Sophie was smiling as she ended the call. Talking to Eliot had made her feel better about everything, and she decided packing a dress wouldn't hurt. Maybe the black one, he seemed to like that one. It didn't hurt that it showed off her legs.

She was still thinking about Eliot and smiling as she finished her packing and went to check on her sisters.

XXX

Eliot was sitting in front of his TV watching a war movie he'd found on Netflix when his phone rang. Since it was eleven o'clock on his day off, he considered letting it go to voice mail. He let it ring three times before sighing and putting the TV on mute. Grabbing his phone off of the coffee table, he saw the caller was Devereaux.

"What now?" he answered gruffly.

"Eliot?"

"Yeah, it's me. I thought you were moving in with your uncle."

"We are. It's just...Well, about that...We have a problem."

He sat up straight. "A problem?"

"Yes. I could really use your help."

"What is it?"

He felt her hesitation, could almost see her biting her lip as she considered her words. "We didn't think about how we'd get him in the house."

"What?"

"We've managed to get him out of the car and into the wheelchair, but we can't get him onto the porch."

"You've got to be kiddin' me."

"I wish I were."

"And you called me because?"

"I didn't know who else to call."

He was flattered that her first thought had been to call him. It made his voice harsh. "What do you expect me to do from here?"

She sighed softly. "I don't know."

That sigh did it. He cursed himself but said, "What's the address?"

"Why?"

"I'm going to come get your uncle in the house and then I'm going to build you a damn temporary ramp."

"What about work?"

"I have today and tomorrow off."

"It's an hour drive..."

"Dammit, Sophie, do you want me to come help or not?"

"Yes." She sounded subdued as she gave him the address.

"All right. Keep him warm and comfortable, and I'll see you in a couple of hours."

"Thank you, Eliot."

"You owe me."

For the first time, he heard her normal smile in her voice. "I'll try to find a way to make it up to you."

XXX

It took Eliot a little over two hours to arrive. He was driving an old, beat up Ford pickup and, even before he reached the house, Sophie could tell he was scowling.

Uncle Jenkins was sitting in his wheelchair by the porch, a warm blanket tucked around his body. Cassie and Parker were sitting on the steps, keeping him occupied with bright chatter. Sophie had been pacing and rubbing her arms, but she stopped when Eliot started up the drive.

She watched as he parked the truck behind her car and got out. She felt a jolt of surprise at the well worn jeans hanging low on his hips and the form fitting gray t-shirt. She'd never seen him dressed so casually.

"These are the kind of things you were supposed to think of before you brought him home," was his greeting.

"I wasn't thinking clearly," she admitted.

He looked into her face for a minute, one of those probing, searching glances that made her so uncomfortable. After a moment that seemed to stretch for hours, he grumbled, "Let's get him in the house."

She nodded and they started towards Uncle Jenkins, Parker, and Cassie.

"Nice truck," Sophie commented.

"Jake's," he replied.

Uncle Jenkins was watching Sophie and Eliot as they approached the steps. His expression was unreadable.

"You must be Detective Spencer," he said.

"Yes, sir. Dev...uh...Sophie tells me you're having a bit of trouble."

"Quite right." He looked slightly embarrassed.

Eliot bent. "May I?"

"If you must."

Smoothly, and as if Uncle Jenkins and his two heavy casts weighed nothing, Eliot scooped him up in his arms. They should have looked comical with Uncle Jenkins long and more than half a foot taller and having casts sticking out at odd angles, but they didn't. Eliot looked as if lifting large men was nothing new to him.

"Bring the wheelchair up the stairs, Parker," he said.

Despite her personal misgivings about Eliot, Parker jumped up to do as he asked. She folded the wheelchair and clumped up the steps behind the men. In seconds, they had Uncle Jenkins resettled.

"Thank you," he said with dignity.

"Any time." Eliot smiled kindly. Sophie loved that smile. It was rare and usually reserved for children and grieving families, but every time she saw it her knees went weak and her insides turned to mush.

"So, you're going to build a ramp?" she asked, climbing the stairs and ignoring the mushy feeling.

Eliot turned to her, his smile gone. "I thought I'd build it here, if your uncle doesn't mind me taking a piece of the railing out. That way it will be right next to the steps and give him easy access to the front door."

Sophie glanced at Uncle Jenkins. "Uncle?"

"Whatever you need to do is fine. The railing is going to be replaced anyway."

"Thank you, Detective Spencer," Cassie piped up.

Eliot just grunted and replied, "I'd better get started."


	5. Chapter 5

After she got her uncle settled, Sophie found herself spending more time watching Eliot than writing. She wouldn't have pegged him for a builder, but he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. His face was full of intense concentration, and she was intrigued at the way his muscles moved beneath his t-shirt.

She was standing at the sitting room window with a cup of tea in her hands, sipping occasionally, when Cassie came in and said, "Sophie?"

"Hmn?"

"Is Detective Spencer staying the night?"

"What?" She turned from the window to look at her sister.

"He's going to be tired when he's done, and it's a long drive back. Should I make up a room for him?"

Sophie thought about it. "He might find it uncomfortable to stay."

"I'm going to ask him anyway."

"Don't be surprised if he says no."

"I won't, but it's the right thing to do."

"Okay."

"I actually came in here to ask you about dinner," Cassie added.

Sophie placed her tea on a small end table. "I thought I'd make a feeble attempt."

"Or I could go down the road and get something," Cassie offered.

Sophie regarded her in amusement. "What are you trying to say?"

Cassie laughed. "That you think cooking is torture."

"You've got me there," Sophie admitted. "Bring enough for five."

"Okay."

When Cassie left the room, Sophie turned back to the window. She was surprised to find Eliot watching her. He'd stopped working and straightened, his eyes on the window. Sophie lifted her hand in a wave. He waved back, so she opened the window, letting in the cooling late afternoon wind.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm almost done."

"Cassie's going to get some supper in a bit."

"You don't have to feed me."

"She's already planning for you to spend the night."

"The night?" He raised his eyebrows.

"She doesn't want you driving after dark when you're tired. It's a thing with her. Please accept gracefully."

Eliot ran his forearm over his forehead. "All right."

"Aren't you cold?"

"I've been working out here for three hours."

"Warm?" she ventured.

"A bit."

"Would you like some water?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be right out." She shut the window and picked up her tea. A smile played over her lips, and she realized she was happy to have Eliot there, even for just a little while. Maybe he'd even fuel her muse.

XXX

"So, Detective Spencer," Uncle Jenkins said as he carefully maneuvered his cast while he ate, "Sophie tells me she's been following you around, helping you on cases."

"Yes, sir."

"In case you haven't noticed, my niece is a very beautiful woman..."

"Uncle Jenkins," Sophie protested.

"...I hope you've been treating her with the respect she deserves."

Eliot stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. "I'm not sure I understand."

Sophie felt her cheeks heat.

"Just that I hope you are treating her both as an intelligent woman and as a lady."

"That's none of your business," Sophie said, tapping her uncle on his good arm.

"Wait," she heard Parker whisper to Cassie, "is he asking if..."

Uncle Jenkins turned to Sophie. "A dalliance on your own terms is acceptable. Forcing you into one is not."

"Eliot would never..." Sophie replied at the same time Eliot said, "I would never..."

"Mr. Jenkins," Eliot continued, "I would never treat Dev...uh...Sophie with anything but respect. We sometimes butt heads, but I like her, and I won't let anything happen to her."

Sophie's eyes flew to his face. "You like me?"

"Don't make a big deal out of it. Maybe you've grown on me a little. Like fungus."

"Fungus?"

He flashed her a rare smile before looking down at his plate. She kicked him under the table. His eyes came back up and he lifted an eyebrow.

"The appropriate response," Uncle Jenkins stated, "is to tell him that you like him too."

"After that fungus comment?"

"Sometimes he's mean to her," Parker said with a scowl.

Uncle Jenkins's eyes went back to Eliot.

"He's not really," Sophie assured him. "And, remember, he did come all the way down here on his day off to help a man he'd never met."

"Oh, yes. I must thank you for that, Detective. You've made my life a lot easier for the next six weeks."

Eliot shrugged. "No problem."

"How much would you like for your efforts?"

"What?"

"Cost, Detective Spencer. How much will this cost?"

Eliot looked slightly insulted. "I don't want your money."

"No?"

"I did it because it was the right thing to do. Dinner is payment enough."

"And you're going to stay overnight, right?" Cassie asked.

He shrugged. "I was planning to get a room at that small hotel at the edge of town."

"That's silly. There's loads of room here."

"If that's what you want. Is that okay with you, Mr. Jenkins?"

"By all means. Anyone who would go out of his way to aid a woman in distress deserves a place to lay his head."

"Cassie's already got your room ready," Sophie told him.

He met her gaze for just a fraction of a second before saying, "Then I'd be glad to stay."

XXX

Eliot retired to his room, which was right next to Sophie's, right after supper to get cleaned up and wash the sawdust out of his hair. While he was doing that, Sophie started unpacking and putting her clothes away in the antique dresser. Instead of a closet, there was a large wardrobe, so that's where she hung her dress and the clothes that could wrinkle.

Looking over at the desk, she saw the picture, but the rose had disappeared as Uncle Jenkins had told her it would. Apparently, they always did.

She took out her laptop and placed it by the photograph. Her notes from the night before were with it. She didn't plan on writing until after Eliot left, but there was always the chance she'd change her mind.

"Sophie?" someone said from the doorway.

"Yes?" She turned but there was no one there. Puzzled, she went to the door and looked out. Both Cassie and Parker were in their rooms with the doors open. They were also unpacking. Parker was holding some sort of harness thing. Sometimes she liked to dangle from buildings. It made her happy, so Sophie just let her be as long as the building wasn't too high.

"Did one of you call for me?" she asked.

"Not me," Parker replied.

Cassie looked up from the colorful flower print dress she was taking from her bag. "I didn't either."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Sophie suddenly felt very warm. She plucked at the front of her shirt and waved it to create a small breeze. "Do you find it warm in here?"

"Uncle Jenkins turned the heat way up because he said there was a nip to the air."

"He'll roast us all."

"It feels just right to me," Eliot commented, stepping into the hallway while rubbing a towel over his hair.

Sophie felt the heat level go up another notch as she stared at him. All he wore was a pair of faded jeans that hung low at his hips. His chest was even nicer than she'd imagined, toned and muscular from either working out or chasing criminals—maybe a little bit of both.

Parker glanced out of her door. "That's because you're half naked."

Eliot snorted. "Better the top half than the bottom half."

Sophie didn't know about that. She'd have to see them both to tell for sure.

"We should be glad for the heat," Cassie said. "Remember how cold it was our first night?"

Sophie shivered and told Eliot, "The electricity was out."

"I'm not surprised. Old house like this."

"Uncle Jenkins says she has good bones," Cassie commented, joining them in the hallway.

"I like it," Parker piped up, throwing a glare at Eliot.

He raised a hand in capitulation. "What passes for fun in a house with good bones?"

Sophie thought about her uncle. "PBS." Eliot gaped at her, so she added, "Sometimes we play cribbage."

"Who wins?" he asked curiously.

"Parker."

He looked thoughtful. "Crib, I like. How about it Devereaux? You up for it?"

She'd been practicing, and she believed she was. "You're on. What are we playing for?"

"Lunches. Once you come back to work, we each get a free lunch for every time we win. What do you say?"

Sophie's chest tightened. "Once I come back?"

He stilled. "You are coming back, aren't you?"

"Of course, but I wasn't expecting you to acknowledge it."

He shrugged.

"Well, I accept your deal, Eliot. Be warned, I like my lunches expensive."

"Don't hold your breath."

She laughed. "You'll see. I'm smarter than you think I am."

"I don't think so."

Her smile dropped from her face because he sounded serious.

"After working with you for two months, I would never underestimate your intelligence. I know how smart you are."

The unexpected compliment took her by surprise, and she felt herself blushing. She never blushed, but there her cheeks were, heating up like the house's old electric radiators.

"Oh," was all that she could say.

XXX

Eliot felt pretty good as he entered his room later that night. The wins had been about even, and Devereaux was both a gracious loser and a gracious winner. Though he wouldn't admit it, he enjoyed spending time with her outside of work.

He shivered as cold air touched his skin. The floorboards felt like ice, and it was almost chilly enough to see his breath. He had been perfectly comfortable downstairs, so he wondered if there was something wrong with his heater.

He pattered across the room, rubbing his arms. In front of the heater, he could feel faint bursts of warmth coming from it. They were swallowed before they could do much good. It was going to be a socks and extra blankets kind of night.

As Eliot grabbed his overnight bag and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed, he couldn't help but wonder how he'd ended up spending the night. Cassie was persuasive, but he had a feeling that the fact he'd missed Devereaux probably played a bigger part in his decision.

Thinking of his beautiful, brilliant, pain-in-the-ass shadow, Eliot couldn't help but smile. Sometimes, she annoyed the hell out of him, but there were other times that he really enjoyed her.

The bathroom was almost as cold as the bedroom had been, and he was reluctant to change in there. Only the fact that his jeans would be uncomfortable to sleep in had him putting his bag on the counter so he could undo them and slide them over his hips.

Before he could reach for his pajamas, his bag tumbled off the counter and onto the floor. Eliot frowned, sure it hadn't been close enough to the edge to do that.

With a grunt, he bent to pick up his things. The bag was chilled to the touch.

"This house is a meat locker," he grumbled.

Strangely enough, the room seemed to get a bit warmer after that. Eliot wasn't sure if it was because he put on warm socks or because the heater was starting to win the fight, but he liked it.

XXX

"Eliot..." the voice whispered. "Eliot..."

Eliot was at the station, and he had no memory of how he got there. He seemed to be alone. Everything was silent, and most of the lights were out. Dim shadows accentuated the hollow sounds his movements made.

"Hello?" he called, and it echoed back to him.

Frowning, he started forward, wondering what was going on. Crumpled paper crinkled under his feet like leaves.

"Eliot," the whisper came again, and this time he detected the hint of a British accent.

"Sophie?" he said softly.

He hurried forward, impatiently kicking a fallen chair out of the way. A feeling of dread had started to clench his stomach. The silence was ominous and oppressive.

"Eliot..."

Eliot left the bullpen and traveled down deep, dark corridors. They grew increasingly darker and colder until Eliot was feeling his way around, shivering violently.

A sudden light up ahead made his anxiety grow instead of lessen. It was pale, and he could barely make out a figure in the middle of it.

"Eliot..."

"Sophie?" His voice sounded too loud, and he winced.

Stumbling over something he couldn't see, he forced himself forward. The further he went, the heavier his feet felt.

When the figure became fully visible, Eliot froze in shock. Sophie was standing in a large halo of light and wearing a simple white dress that billowed softly around her legs until it almost reached the floor. The top of it hugged her body, outlining her figure.

The picture might have been a pretty one if it weren't marred by a large red stain. The stain covered Sophie's breasts and her stomach, and her hands were clasped tightly in front of it. In her hands, she held a yellow rose, and the rose was spattered with droplets of blood.

Sophie's face was much too pale, her dark eyes large and pleading. Her mouth didn't move, but he heard her whisper his name once again.

"Eliot..."

"Sophie." He almost choked on the word. "What'd you do?"

She didn't answer, so he took a step towards her. He could see his breath in the nimbus of light. His body grew stiff with the cold, but he refused to let that stop him.

"Let me help you," he gasped. The air that filled his lungs felt like nails.

Sophie unclasped her hands and held out the rose to him. Blood dripped from its petals onto the floor.

Unable to stop himself, Eliot reached for the flower. The instant his hand touched Sophie's their skin froze together, and his whole arm turned to ice.

Eliot jerked awake, shivering. He'd been sleeping awkwardly on his arm, and it had numbed to the point where even the act of jerking awake sent pain shooting through him.

He cursed and rolled onto his back, gritting his teeth. Where the hell had that dream come from? Eliot was used to nightmares—working with the dead did that to a guy—but this was something different.

Groaning, he snapped on the little lamp beside his bed. He blinked as the harsh glow attacked his eyes. They watered, but he could still see enough to pick up his watch. 3:04. Way too early to get up. He'd never get back to sleep.

That was his last thought before a feeling of warmth and comfort surrounded him and he tumbled into a calm, dreamless sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Eliot was fully dressed the next morning when he wandered into the kitchen. He found all three women there, still in their pajamas. Parker was a the table peering into a cereal box with a bowl in front of her; Cassie was waiting impatiently in front of the toaster; and Sophie was sitting on the sideboard with her heels beating softly against the bottom cupboards.

Eliot gaped. He was used to a polished, always elegant—even in jeans and a t-shirt—Devereaux. This woman with slightly messy hair, no makeup, and striped flannel pajamas was something new. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

"Good morning." She smiled warmly.

"Nice pajamas," he rasped. Did flannel usually fit curves that way?

She looked down, and he noticed her first two buttons were undone. "They're warm."

"They look warm."

"Do you want some breakfast?" She hopped down. "I usually have just toast and coffee, but I might be able to scramble you up an egg without ruining it."

Eliot remembered Devereaux's first instinct was always to order in. He didn't know how she'd survive out here where no one delivered. "I'd rather not die."

"You've been talking to my mother, haven't you?"

"Why don't you let me cook breakfast?"

"You?" Her eyes widened.

"Surprised?"

"Frankly, yes."

"I'm a man of many talents." He smiled. "Cassie?"

"Yes, please!"

"None for me, thanks," Parker said, pouring cereal into her bowl as she munched some from her hand.

"Cereal is her favorite food group," Devereaux explained, moving closer so the scent of cinnamon and vanilla surrounded him.

"How about omelets for the rest of us? Where is Mr. Jenkins?"

"He's in the sitting room waiting for toast."

"Would he like an omelet?"

"Most definitely."

"Okay then, go sit at the table with Parker, and I"ll see what I can do about creating something edible."

For once, she didn't argue, and Eliot went to the fridge to see what he could find. He was pleasantly surprised to see that it was well stocked.

As he cooked, he absently listened to the sisters chat, and a ball of anxiety he hadn't even noticed in the bottom of his stomach began to loosen. Whispers of his nightmare clung to his mind, and it had been so real that seeing Devereaux alive and smiling had been a relief. Even in the warm light of day, it was hard to forget her haunted eyes or the rose that dripped blood.

Eliot was just finishing up the first omelet when he felt someone behind him. Without looking, he knew it was Devereaux. She both smelled and felt different from her sisters and, both because of working with her daily and his attraction to her, his body was attuned to hers.

"Did you want something?" he asked.

"I wanted to peek." Her body brushed his as she leaned in to see over his shoulder. Eliot almost dropped his flipper.

"Go get your uncle. We'll feed him first."

"He wants to eat in the sitting room."

"Then get him a plate."

"Okay."

Behind him, he could hear Cassie giggling over something and the loud crunches as Parker munched on her cereal.

The meal itself went quickly. As Eliot had discovered the night before, eating with the sisters was a pleasant experience. Cassie was full of bright, happy talk. Devereaux interacted differently with her sisters than she did with the rest of the world, and Eliot realized he was seeing more of the real her when she was with them. Parker was Parker, but Eliot found even she was starting to grow on him despite the face that she still didn't seem to like him.

After they were done, Cassie thanked him with a brief hug before gathering the dishes.

"I think I'll head out," he told Devereaux when she also thanked him for breakfast. Her thank you was in words.

"It's only ten am." She sounded reluctant for him to go.

"I've got to return Jake's truck." If not for that, he might have been tempted to spend the day with them. "Besides, shouldn't you be writing?"

Devereaux let out a long sigh. "Now you sound like Flynn."

"Maybe he's right."

Her eyes suddenly got distant. "Maybe."

He studied her face for just a little longer before he forced himself to go upstairs and get his stuff. When he got back down, Parker and Cassie were both still in the kitchen, but Devereaux was waiting by the front door for him. She'd put on big fuzzy slippers and thrown a thin jacket over her pajamas. She looked so unlike herself that Eliot paused halfway down the stairs. He wondered if this was the woman she was when she was alone, comfortable enough in her own skin to wear pajamas and an old coat as if they were evening wear.

"What?"

"Will you be warm enough in that?" was all he could think to say.

"It's not that cold out. In Britain, this would be summer."

Eliot shrugged and threw his bag over his shoulder. He clumped the rest of the way down the stairs, and Devereaux held the door open for him. He brushed by her, enjoying it way too much. She followed him out onto the porch, closing the door behind her.

"I can't thank you enough," she said.

He glanced at her.

"For coming to help. For the ramp. For breakfast."

"A good man helps when he can," Eliot automatically echoed words his mama had repeated over and over to him and Jake when they were boys.

"I appreciate it. Cassie thinks you're some kind of hero."

"And Parker?"

She laughed lightly. "Parker will keep you humble."

"If you need any more help with your uncle, let me know. I'll make the trip out if I can."

She placed her fingers briefly on his wrist. "Thank you."

He nodded and climbed down the steps before he said or did anything he'd regret. She was his partner. They worked together. The problem was, despite the fact that they were as different as it was possible for two people to be, she was also temptation. Annoying or sweet. Stubborn or kind. Lighthearted or brilliant. It didn't matter which Devereaux he was dealing with, they all got under his skin.

He glanced once more at Devereaux before hopping into the truck. She was standing on the porch with her hands in her jacket pockets. Her dark eyes were watching him, and there was a serious look on her face. Eliot raised his hand to her, and she took out one of her own hands to wave back.

A strange feeling came over Eliot, a feeling that told him if he left her here like this, it would be the last time he ever saw her. Blaming this feeling on the dream of the night before, he pushed it away.

Devereaux was right, it was a beautiful morning. The sunshine had already warmed the cab, and he was glad he hadn't worn a jacket. The keys were under the visor where he'd left them the night before, so he put the right one in the ignition and turned. Nothing happened. Eliot frowned and tried again. Same result.

"What's wrong?" Devereaux called.

Eliot opened the door to climb back out. "Battery's dead."

"Do you need a boost?"

"Got cables?"

"Uncle Jenkins must. He has everything. I'll go ask him."

She hurried inside while Eliot waited. He couldn't think of any reason the battery would be dead. Jake's truck wasn't new, but it was well kept. It broke down less than Eliot's car.

Devereaux came back out still wearing those fuzzy slippers. There were keys in h her hand. "In the car."

Together, they went over to the white sedan parked in front of a large storage shed. Devereaux handed the keys to Eliot.

"In the trunk?" he asked.

"Yes."

He opened it to find there was nothing inside but a box of glass tubes.

"Are you sure he said in here?"

"He was very clear."

"There's nothing."

She came up beside him. "Oh."

"Do you think the bang to his head could have scrambled his memory?"

She frowned and bit her lip before saying, "He's been fine up until now."

"Doesn't matter. Why don't you give me a drive to the nearest hardware store? We'll pick some up."

She smiled. "Can I get dressed first?"

"I'd really prefer if you did."

Her smile widened. "All right. Come inside and wait. I won't be long."

XXX

In the end, even booster cables couldn't get the truck started again. After looking the vehicle over, Eliot was baffled.

"Don't worry, Eliot," Devereaux said when he came into the house sweaty, dirty, and cursing, "I'll give you a ride into the city. It's the least I can do."

"It's a two hour round trip."

"Which you were willing to make yesterday. We'll have some lunch, then I'll take you home."

"What about your uncle?"

"Cassie has him wrapped around her finger. He'll do whatever she says. He'll be fine."

Eliot accepted this and went to the bathroom to wash up.

It was two before they finally got on the road. Eliot tried to get Devereaux to let him drive, but she shot him down, telling him it was her car and she wanted to drive for once. He scowled at her but didn't mind giving in.

The hour into the city was the longest time they'd spent alone together when not on a case. It should have been awkward, but it actually felt comfortable. Devereaux chatted companionably about her sisters, and Eliot answered when she asked him a question.

"So what are you working on now?" Devereaux asked about halfway through their trip.

"I got a text from Baird a couple of hours ago. A woman found in a dumpster."

"Any leads?"

"There wasn't then. I'm sure she'll catch me up to speed in the morning."

"Will you call and tell me what's going on?"

He thought carefully about his wording before replying, "I thought you were taking a break."

She glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"You disappeared after the Adam Mitchell case."

"Oh, that."

"Yeah, that."

"I..."

"It got to you. I get it. You should have told me you needed a couple of days."

After a pause, she asked quietly, "Didn't it get to you?"

"Hell, yeah. The kid cases are the hardest."

"But you didn't have to take time off."

"I've been doing this a long time. I'll tell you a secret."

Her rigid body relaxed a bit. "What's that?"

"Hardison still throws up when we get a tough case. Kids. Sexual assault. Once there was this pregnant woman..." Devereaux held up her hand so he stopped abruptly. "Point is, tough is tough. You're allowed to be upset."

"How did you know?"

Because he watched her carefully. After only two months, he knew almost every expression, almost every movement of her body, almost every smile. "I just did."

"I thought you'd send me away."

"We had a deal. Remember?"

She just shook her head, keeping her eyes on the road.

"Don't tell Hardison I told you."

A hint of a smile touched her lips. "Of course not."

He wasn't one to pry into people's emotions, but he had to ask. "Are you okay?"

She glanced at him again. "About coming back?"

"Yes."

Instead of giving him a quick answer, she thought about it. "I think so."

"Then I'll see you in six weeks."

"Definitely. And you'll call every day to let me know what's going on?"

"Every day?"

"Eliot."

"All right."

Their conversation moved on to other things, but he was happy he'd cleared the air with her. He was even looking forward to her coming back to work.

XXX

Cassie was waiting for the wrecker when it came to take the truck away. The tow truck driver was a big, hairy guy with a greasy ball cap and faded jeans. He reminded her a bit of Cooter from The Dukes of Hazard.

His smile was warm enough when he climbed out of his truck. "Good afternoon. I got a call about a truck that won't start."

"Yes." She skipped lightly down the steps. Her hands were deep in her jacket pocket, and she was wearing her warmest leggings.

"It's the one right here."

He followed her over to Jake Spencer's gray Ford and studied it.

"Detective Spencer got in and tried to start it, but it wouldn't go—not even with booster cables."

"Let me take a look," he said, so Cassie handed him the keys.

Her mouth dropped open when the truck started for him on the first try. "They tried to start it for an hour and couldn't get it to go."

"It seems to be working fine now. I'll still take a good look at it, if you'll drive it in for me."

"Me?" she squeaked.

"You got a license?"

"Yes."

"It's automatic. You'll be fine."

Cassie had never driven anything that big. "What if I hit something?"

"You'll be fine." He seemed sure, so Cassie held her hand out for the keys.

XXX

They were in the city when Eliot got a call on his cell phone. Sophie looked at him curiously. "Baird?"

He frowned and looked at the phone. "It says R. Jenkins."

Sophie felt a flash of anxiety. "I hope everything's okay."

"Let me find out." He pressed the screen and brought the phone up to his ear. "Spencer...Hey, Cassie...What do you mean it started? ...You're kiddin' me...Did you give him this number?...Okay, thanks."

"Jake's truck?" Sophie asked, guessing the gist of Cassie's news from Eliot's side of the conversation.

"It started right up, and Cassie was able to drive it to the garage. The mechanic's looking it over now."

"It started right up?" Considering how long they'd tried, this was surprising.

"That's what she said."

"That's strange. At least you don't have to tell your brother you broke his truck."

Eliot grimaced. "Not my fault."

"Would he have believed that?"

"Probably not. Listen, if the case doesn't include too much overtime, we'll be down sometime in the next couple of days to pick it up."

"There's no hurry. We have lots of room in the driveway."

"It's Jake's only vehicle. As it is, he probably won't give me my car back."

"Do you want me to ask him for you?" She was unable to keep the amusement out of her voice.

He snorted a laugh but didn't reply as she pulled up in front of his apartment building.

"This is you, right?" she asked.

"Yup."

"Do you want me to drop you off at Jake's?"

"Nah. I'll get him to swing by and get me in the morning. Thanks for the drive."

"Any time."


End file.
